Monsters of Men
by Rowan Kline
Summary: A man caught in the swell of radiation from the nuclear apocalypse finds himself thrust into horrors he nor his old world sensibilities can comprehend. This is a prologue piece. My first crack at fanfiction, I wrote this back in march 2012 and have yet to finish it. Hopefully a good response from you noble souls will compel me to continue writing. Apologies for the short length.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

I can see him now. The leader takes his pistol from his makeshift belt and presses it firmly into the terrified slave's eye socket. Through the haze I can distinctly see the maniac grin play across his face like a straight flush. I let out a barely audible sigh. This is not one I'm going to worry about later. I keep deadly still, old bones and muscles seizing up all the while. I know a single move could set off the sentries, blowing this whole 4-day camping trip for good and leaving me with a whole lot more shooting than I feel I'm capable of at the moment.

Sure enough however, my stillness pays off and no one so much as batts a studded eye-lid. That is until bolt ignites powder and powder propels tiny lead cone through ugly bastards cranial regions. I release the aching breath from my ancient lungs and remain as still as possible, hoping the violent storm playing overhead will disguise my gunshot for a few moments. It doesn't. The freshly blood spattered slave falls screaming to the ground as 23 rifles and shotguns of varying makes and qualities riddle my crumbled little wall with more holes than a pre-war billboard. Perhaps I was a little eager in selecting the moment to take my shot...

Bolting down the rubble inside the collapsed building I've spent the past few days using as a personal incubator, I snag both of my m19's and head for the exit- a rusted manhole I found the previous day to the sewerage system in the building's basement. I've just flipped up the hatch to the rusted tunnels when it occurs to me to trigger my failsafe. Who'd've known that lunch-boxes and a couple of caps can be such potent demolition devices. The colossal boom that nearly ruptures my eardrums released by the tiny package is clearly far more potent than I had anticipated. The building comes down. Almost on top of me, but it's clear that the old maintenance hatch will hold. Nuclear war and 200 years and this stuff still stands up to pretty much everything. I can hear a few muffled shouts from what I'm pretty sure are the slavers who may or may not have been caught in the crumbling building. I move off down the pipe, trying in vain to prevent a contented smile from spreading across my aged face.

I've just reached a crossroads in the pipe when I hear the wrenching of another hatch just up ahead and the distinct patter of three... make that four targets hitting the metal floor of the pipe. My pistols are up and the first one is on the ground in seconds but the others take the smart tack and duck off into side passages, spraying the narrow pipe with screeching, ricocheting bullets. I press myself flat against the wall and unload the remainder of my clips at the raiders, forcing them further into their hiding spots. I hit dry though and go for the reload. Now interestingly enough, one of the raiders must've been sober enough to count to 14 - the number of bullets at my disposal - and sprints round the corner trying to catch me unawares. He doesn't.

I've already reloaded and cocked by the time he's a foot out of cover. The faint whimper he lets out right before I paint the tunnel with his innards sparks a pang of guilt in my old heart but this quickly fades as I shift my aim to the two others now readying themselves to follow their downed comrade into what they think is a won battle. They come out from around the corner slightly apprehensive and I repay them for their troubles. The short bangs and muffled thuds resound through the newly settled silence and I follow them with a ragged sigh. Oddly ragged... I peer down my coat at the police armor hidden under my trench coat. At the steady flow of brownish-red flowing from one of the gaps in the plate metal. One of them has hit me.

I immediately apply pressure to the spot, not knowing if the bullet has gone all the way through. Being a nurse has come in handy since the war and the number of stitches that play across my body seems to match the number of years I've spent putting them there...

I make a quick check of the rest of me for any other wounds but a few grazes and scratches aren't enough to distract me from my own life flowing out of me here. It's then that I realize that I'm out of meds... I shuffle further down the tunnel, cursing my own stupidity for not stopping in at megaton on the way here. There were goddamn signs proclaiming a sale on bloody Stim's for crying out loud! I crouch -or rather fall- by one of the dead raiders, knees cracking, worn leather pants slowly darkening in the ever-flowing blood. I pat the guy down for anything, anything that could be of use but the sparsely dressed bone-sack is devoid of pretty much everything categorized as useful. Its the same story for the next two. I finally make my way to the last body, that of the man I killed first as he dropped into the tunnel. By this time I've lost almost enough blood to paint a boathouse but I'm still conscious enough to pry what I've been looking for from his shoulder pouch. A Stim-pack. I apply the large syringe directly to the wound, not enough energy even to wince as the flow of healing nanites enters my bloodstream. Not quick enough I think. Darkness closes. My head hits the floor and all is quiet...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

I lie there for some time, sporadically floating in and out of consciousness. I have a brief moment of pain as someone or something kicks me in the side. Even then I try my best to keep quiet and from the laughs and receding footsteps I assume they've left me for dead. Odd lights plague my vision and moments of screeching white noise fill my brain as the slow tide of nanites in my blood slowly bring me back into reality.

The first sensation to fully return is my sense of temperature. Interesting fact actually. That you have not just 5 but anywhere between 9 and 24 senses including stuff like balance and humidity. Unfortunately, of all those 24, I'm stuck with the one screaming and crying like a little bitch telling me I'm about to lose what's left of my below-the-belt area. I try to bring myself to roll over but my muscles have gone numb from the Stim and its a few moments before I can actually sit myself up against the rounded tunnel wall.

The Stim-pack seems to have done it's job which is a plus. I can see the small rejected lead pellet resting on the floor surrounded by what I can only assume is my dried blood. My abdomen aches like only a bullet wound can but I can see that it is beginning to heal at the rate boasted so heavily in the old pre-war Stim-pack ads. I struggle to my feet and begin to recover what I can from the downed men. A few .32 rounds and a single pack of med-x for my troubles only serves to worsen my mood but I pocket them nonetheless as I rise to my feet and begin the slow trudge down the rusty tunnel.

I emerge into the glaring sun of the capital wasteland amid a group of rocks concealing the jutting end of the pipe. I drop into the gravel and dust and feel it settle into the cracks in my boots. _Yes,_ I think, _This is home. _The spire of the washington monument stabs into the green-tinged sky like the last clawing hand of a dead civilization and the rustle of the wind across the dirt seems oddly calming in the morning silence.

The walk towards my home settlement, known as Underworld to most, takes me past a group of prospecters. Scavengers in truth but hey, there's a really limited number of ways to scrape out a living these days and most of them involve trading blows... They look up as I approach and I tense almost subconsciously as their hands slide towards their holsters. It's then that I realise I'm still wearing my face wraps and goggles. I raise my hands gingerly, clearly displaying my empty hands, and slowly begin unwinding the bandages coating my head. By the time I've reached them, the bandages are all but gone but a sadistic smile has spread across the main Scav's face.

"Well I'll be, looks like we've got another one looking for handouts." He turns to his buddy smiling, "I swear if we get one more _zombie_ out here looking for-"

My pistol barrel meeting the back of his head stops him in the middle of his sentence. The threat barely sounds over my sheer loathing

"Say it again."

The other Scavenger has pulled his revolver on me but he doesn't dare take the shot while I'm less than a millisecond from clearing out the space between his buddy's ears. Besides, I can see a trickle of yellow fluid cascading across his boot. The poor bastard is scared to death. And to be honest, I can't blame him. I'm not even sure why I'm getting so worked up. Humans have always been prejudiced bastards, even before the war. Unfortunately, Changes in my... lifestyle have made these prejudices all too apparent... and all the more stinging.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

I suppose I should explain myself at this stage. Like why am I reminiscing about a time before a war that any living human being today would have heard about only in stories on their parents' knees and from the relics that remain half buried in ash? Simply put, the reasons for my longevity stem from one man made miracle. Nuclear Radiation.

250 years ago when the world's finest minds turned their very best weapons upon themselves, the globe was engulfed in a nuclear fire unlike any other before or since. Plain and simple, it was the apocalypse. Billions of lives were snuffed out in an instant. A small percentage of humanity managed to stave off the fires and even the fallout in purpose-built underground vaults and their descendants remain to this day.

Others like myself however were not so lucky. A small percentage of the population who were not lucky or wealthy enough to be chosen for the vault program but were still able to survive the initial blasts were left to fend for themselves. What they didn't count on however was the ravaging effect the fallout would have on their bodies. Something unique in their bodies, what I've come to refer to as a sort of genetic x-factor changed them. They became Ghouls.

I still remember my last official night as a nurse working at "Sacred Heart" hospital. And before you say anything, yes, I was a male nurse, move on. I had been on call all night and the radio by my small bunk in the on-call room had been spraying nothing but garbled static for the last 2 hours. I had been thinking of ways to ask out the girl across the hall at the front desk for the last couple of days and had finally come up with the most ingenious move I could come up with.

In hindsight, the plan was actually rather poor but I was optimistic at the time. I sidled up to the counter and propped my elbow onto the chest high reception desk, flicking my hair out of my face and flashing a small smile.

"Hey V!" I chirped, "I heard there was a lovesick patient down in C ward. I actually went down to check on the guy and he seemed okay to me. I think I may have caught it though."

She looked at me, that mixture of confusion and amusement playing across her face like she knew she had me wrapped around her finger but still wasn't sure how tightly.

"So anyway I was thinking about the symptoms and I remembered that constant invites to dinner or coffee were in the big three." I gently tilted my head back as though lost in thought then finished up with a casual "So hey, you wanna maybe get coffee or dinner later tonight?"

She let the smile break across her face and my heart skipped a beat.

"Y'know what? A condition as severe as that deserves a diagnosis." She tilted forward and held a hand across my forehead, my skin prickling at her touch. Leaning back with a frown on her face she nodded to herself and pursed her lips.

"Hrmm yes, it seems you are indeed sick." She leant back, shaking her head, "My preferred treatment, at least one to two cups of coffee with your doctor. I'm thinking tonight, around eight-ish?" I beamed one of my goofiest smiles ever. I had a good feeling about that night. "Sounds good to me." I replied, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible and snapped a quick wave as I started walking off down the hall. "See you around 8!" I called back to her. Unfortunately, that was the last time I ever saw Vivian Read ever again.

Not ten seconds after the exchange, the lights in the hospital flickered and suddenly went out, dowsing the halls in darkness. Most of the life support systems for the patients were on their own self contained generators but I was puzzled. _Surely the backup generators would've kicked in by now? _

After several moments of waiting, I decided it was pointless to twiddle my thumbs any further and headed down to the generator room. I illuminated the dark concrete-walled cellar of the ancient building with the small torch I had picked up on the way past the on-call room. It was clear that maintenance had spent very little of it's budget maintaining this area for the past however many years. Spider-webs and dust coated the walls and miscellaneous junk was piled in ramshackle towers around the room and I had to cough several times to handle it as I made my way towards the old generators. They were dead, fried from the inside.

It was then that the screaming started, closely followed by a deafening roar and a shaking like the very gods were trying to tear the hospital from it's foundations. Several of the beams above me began to collapse, one of which swung right towards me, smacking me right in the chest and throwing me against the solid concrete wall. I went out like a light, completely unaware of the massacre that had just encapsulated the world above me.

It felt like minutes but in hindsight it must've been closer to days or even a couple of weeks before I woke, choking on the acrid dust and ash that had built up in my mouth. I rose to my feet, keeping a hand firmly planted on the wall for support. Rustling by my feet startled me but it was far too dark to see anything. It was then that I remembered my torch. I scrambled around on the floor quickly in the pitch black and let out a raspy sigh of relief when my hands touched the plastic case.

I flicked the light on and cast the smoky beam around the basement. Downed roof supports and collapsed shelving units littered the area but I wasn't surprised considering the "recent earthquake". I clambered over fallen debris towards the exit and found that it had been buried in rubble. I gasped, coughing once again at the dust.

"Help! Anybody help!" I yelled, voice still dry and raspy. I clearly needed a drink. Maybe Viv was still in the mood for that coffee even after this disaster.

"The door's blocked off, please, can anybody hear me?" I tried again. It was clear that no one was coming. I scampered up the pile of masonry and wreckage towards the general area of the doorway and began to tear at the rubble with my hands, calmly at first but faster and faster as thoughts of the possible disaster above began to enter my mind.

Perhaps the hospital had come down, maybe people were buried in the rubble, maybe Vivian was... _No, _I thought, _She'll be fine, she's smart like that._ I clawed faster and faster and it wasn't until something sharp and small flicked me in the face that I stopped. I bent over in the dark and flashed my light down at whatever had flecked my face. I picked it out fairly quickly amongst the grey rubble. It was a fingernail. My fingernail. I was astounded that I hadn't felt it come off. Surely that would've hurt, right? I brought the light over my hand. And screamed.

It was like something out of an old monster movie, worse than any kind of leprosy or skin disease I had ever seen in my 5 years as a nurse. The skin on my hand had begun to rot. I could see aching red flesh and crusted skin coating my hand where there was once clean skin. I flashed the light down my fingers and towards my wrist and was horrified to find that it continued, not just on my wrist but all the way down my arm and towards my elbow. Each movement of the light revealed more and more of my peeled skin and tissue and I fought back the urge to faint and throw up at the same time. Nothing had prepared me for this, no amount of time at any medical institution in the world could cover this kind of sickness. Then something occurred to me.

I flicked the light over to where I had been lying and found that it had not been rats or mice that had rustled by me as I stood. It was the rustling of flakes of my own, dried skin. It was then that I did actually vomit, but still only managed to produce a small amount of grey fluid, my body being nearly empty at the time. After I managed to compose myself, I edged closer to the pile of horrific flakes and examined it closely. I could see amongst the flakes, small black and brown strands. It was, of course, my hair. I passed a hand up towards my scalp to confirm and felt what I had been dreading. My whole body had been affected, I was completely bald. I moved my hand down my face, wincing at each piece of sore, exposed flesh.

I collapsed to the floor, my legs no longer able to cope with the stress and wept. Openly wept, sorrow seeping out of me like a rusted tap. You must take into account that this was before all the madness of the wasteland and my priorities at the time were fairly shallow. Besides, I'd like to see you lose your face and not be even a little distraught.

I eventually managed to calm myself and decided to treat my "wounds" as best I could. I had managed to find some medical supplies in a taped up box but any kind of cream I applied just burnt and stung with no sign of easing, I splashed some water from a small bottle onto my face to clear it out and eventually came to the conclusion that I had no option but to bandage myself as best I could. I wrapped my exposed flesh as well as a year and a half of nurse training allows and finally covered my face, leaving a slit for my eyes. I felt like a mummy from the movies and pondered to myself if perhaps this was some kind of fake reality, perhaps this was all a dream? The tantalizing thought quickly escaped me though. _You don't feel pain like this in a dream_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

After my initial gruesome discovery, I spent the next few days surviving off the meagre food in the cafeteria supply boxes and to be honest, ate a fair amount of the stuff, even if it was mostly awful and dried. My phone battery had died so I had no idea what time it was, let alone what day. Because of this my sleeping became fairly erratic and unstructured. I'd spend what felt like hours picking away at the dirt covering the door to the surface all the while praying the precious supply of torch batteries I had built up wouldn't die on me. When they eventually did I must've been about two days from digging my way out. It must've been the fourth or fifth time in the past week when I'd collapsed into a puddle of depression. On the plus side though, a side effect of my "condition" seemed to be slightly better night vision than before. Better hearing too. It was probably that that saved my life.

The dull thud of footsteps from above first alerted me to the possibility of a rescue. Of course my first reaction was to scream at the top of my lungs. Unfortunately, spending a ridiculous amount of time breathing only scraps of air and eating dried food had left me with very little capacity for speech at the time. My first attempt came out more rasping and coughing than actual speech. It must've been enough though because I heard the footsteps halt and pause for a moment as though listening for any sign of movement. I cleared my throat and yelled again,

"HELP, PLEASE I'M BURIED UNDER HERE!" I heard some yelling in return then but it was horribly muffled and I couldn't make any of it out. It was then that I heard a beeping. High pitched. Repetitive. I'd seen enough movies to know what was coming next. I hit the far wall just as a large explosive charge tore through the ceiling and rubble above where I had just been standing. Piercing shafts of light stabbed into the darkness and burnt my exposed eyes. I winced and cowered away as much as I could into the corner, covering my eyes from the searing pain. Rocks and stones skittered past my feet as swaying beams of torchlights flickered on and burnt through the darkness.

"Hello? Anyone alive down there?" a voice echoed down. I stuttered a gasped affirmative and was astounded as a rope rolled down the rugged hole. I allowed my eyes a few moments to adjust before moving towards the open hole of burning brightness. Wrapping my hands firmly around the rope, I began to make my first muscle wrenching tug towards the surface.

You may have noticed, my chapter lengths are quite sporadic and weird. I apologise for this, I'm new.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

What met me however was not a rescue party as I had hoped. No ambulance. No TV crew. Rather, three sets of sturdy work boots attached to three sets of sturdy legs set below three burly looking men. It was clear from the tattoos and the joke-shop grins that they were definitely not a rescue party. One of them was wearing police riot armor, a step down from the military grade stuff, but the blood splatter around the collar indicated that he was clearly not an officer of the law. The others wore an assortment of metal, leather and sports padding but the greedy expressions on their faces gave away their intentions without the need of asking.

"Well blow me, we've dug up Tuten Khamun" Phony-Policeman grinned.

"Who?" said the one to his right, a guy who I realised had the most outrageous mohawk I had ever seen.

"A mummy you idiot, from Egypt." Policeman replied, cuffing mohawk over the head.

"To be honest he looks filthy enough to have spent nigh on a month down there."

I tried to stand but the click and firm point of a shotgun meeting my back stopped me cold.

"Jesus Christ!" I Blurted, "Relax! What the hell is going on?"

My face now down in the dirt, I only heard the next remarks but could pretty much make out what was going on.

"I think you were right Mick," This must've come from the third man, the one wearing the welding mask.

"He doesn't even know!"

_Know what?_ I thought. "Mick" answered my questions for me.

"Well well well then. Welcome, my antiquated Egyptian friend, to the capital wasteland!"

Of course what he said meant nothing to me at the time, but after they pulled me to my feet it was clear what he meant. What remained of the hospital stood as charred ruins. Simple pillars and broken timber were all that remained. But it wasn't just the hospital that had suffered. I looked beyond the shattered walls and for a moment thought we had been transported into some bizarre stone forest but I quickly realised that they were not trees, but the remains of buildings. Mile upon mile of buildings all burnt to the ground. I mean sure, there were some still standing but it was just... Overwhelming.  
"Wh... What happened?" I stuttered.

Mohawk was the first to reply

"Nu-kiler 'pocalypse. Dem Reds finally pushed the button, took out everything from here to the border. Course, we dun nuked em back see, n' ten times bigger." He seemed oddly proud at this last note.

I searched for any other solution as to the total ruin of an entire city but there was nothing. No earthquake or tornado could do anything like this. It explained other things as well, the static on my radio, the burnt out generators (most likely due to the EMP). But for some reason it just seemed all too... unbelievable.

"I'm actually surprised you're still alive, the radiation levels around here are astronomic." added welding mask.

That last part just about synched it for me. It wasn't leprosy, or any other kind of skin disease. I had been exposed to deadly gamma radiation, and had been for almost a month.

"well that explains... a lot" I said.

"Like what?" Asked Mick, slightly bemused. It was then that I began to unfurl my bandages, exposed flesh stinging again but not as bad as before. The men just stopped and gawked when I finished. I think mohawk may have even screamed a little.

"What in the..." Mick stepped back a little, raising his shotgun towards me. "What the hell _are_ you?"

To be honest I could understand their reactions, it must've been confronting seeing a guy with 50% of his skin missing and the rest hanging off in chunks.

"He's some kinda' Chinese monster, here to finish off the rest of us!" Declared Mohawk.

The others just stared at me with a mixture of horror and revulsion. I admittedly was kinda' hurt but quickly replied with

"No, seriously guys, I'm okay. Just a little radiation I think. Honestly I feel fine." It was just then, at that one inopportune moment, that my nose fell off.

To be quite frank, I was personally more freaked out about losing my nose than the trio of wandering psychos were but then again, they were armed. The looks of horror I got in return for my nasal disappearing act pretty much cast away any idea of getting them to help me. They raised their guns. I found myself, for the first time of many, throwing myself out of the path of bullets and running for my very life. I would've gotten away with it too if I hadn't just spent a month underground and was now so horribly sensitive to light that I ran nearly half blind through the ruined streets, stumbling over rubble and charred skeletal figures.

More and more gun-shots echoed behind me and my near blindness wasn't helping my cause. I stumbled past the various scarred and roasted hulks of busses and cars, all of which had been fried from the inside out. Some of the newer atomic models had even exploded, clear lines of ash surrounding their blackened remains. I had made it a fair way from the hospital, almost to the place where I picked up my coffee's in the morning. It was right about then that I tripped over something I had missed in my blindness and fell. Hard. A shooting pain sprang through my wrist but I was pretty sure it wasn't broken, maybe just a bad sprain... Cackled laughter sprang from behind me as well as half-mad shouts, most of it nonsense.

These guys had surely come out from whatever hole they'd ridden this disaster out in a little too early... but then again, I suppose that put us in the same boat... By this time I'd stopped thinking clearly and pressing myself up against the carcass of a charcoaled' taxi I found out what I had tripped on. A burnt out skeleton, nothing but rags hanging from the charred bones sat beside me, jaw hanging open in a silent expression of shock. I cringed away instinctively but not before I got a glimpse of what was poking out of the briefcase still clutched firmly in his twig-like fingers. The barrel of an old cowboy revolver protruded just barely from the leather lining but I grabbed it anyway, swinging myself around to take a shot at my pursuers. Now it is important to note that I had never pointed a gun in my life, let alone at another human being but I stand by this, and my near blindness for the fact that when I did go to pull the trigger, all I got in return was a click. The bloody thing was empty.

"Aghhh, Just GOD-DAMN TYPICAL!" I screamed as I scooped up the briefcase with my sprained arm and ducked off among the jungle of scrap metal for the second time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

I ran for what felt like hours but was probably closer to minutes, all the while dodging back and forth among the wreckage and ruin of this new wasteland. While the first few hundred meters were alright, my wheezing and rasping really began to tear at my lungs as the run wore on. Sharp stabbing pains lanced throughout my body, threatening to topple me then and there. The yokels behind me followed as insistently as a pack of seagulls to a small child with food, their hollers and gun shots echoing amongst the decrepit buildings. In an act of providence, I had just gone past, and actually took a moment to have a stereotypical double-take, at the entrance to the metro tunnels.

At this stage I was just about worn out and decided against my better judgment that it was time to return below ground. I sprinted down to the chain link gates to the station and slowly began to pull aside one of the gates. The squeal released by the hinge would've been enough to wake the dead but it was open and I was in before my pursuers had even entered the street. I slammed the gate shut again and scrambled for a small chain and padlock which I threaded in amongst the gates, slamming it shut with a firm 'chunk'. I let out a satisfied, almost disbelieving gasp and staggered off into the darkness.

xXx

I made my way to a bathroom, and locked myself in a stall. Sitting on the crumbling hunk of porcelain, I calmed and tried to get my murderous heartbeat back under control. On the plus side, my wrist was feeling oddly better. In fact my whole body felt warm, like I had drunk something quite hot and it was slowly trickling through my body and into my extremities. I released a warm sigh of relief, air shuddering out of my adrenalin-fueled body and tilted my head back, letting it rest against the tiled wall of the cubicle.

As the pumping blood in my ears began to diminish, an odd clicking caught my attention, echoing off the high ceilings and stone walls. I looked towards the source. It was coming from the briefcase, persistent and rapid, like a kid tapping his pencil in an exam hall... I cautiously pried open the case and found another unexpected gift. It was a Geiger counter. And it was crackling way into the red zone.

The entire metro must have been irradiated, even the streets above were warm with it. It would take me years to realise that radiation was actually the cause of my quick recovery from the sprain but for then I was just content to sit in the warmth, as I figured I was pretty much irradiated to the point of glowing anyway and well beyond the lethal limit. Now was a good time for rest. Permanent or otherwise. I was beyond caring.

xXx

After about an hour of hanging around in the cubicle and finding myself still conscious, I decided to have a more in-depth look through the case that so far had handed me an empty pistol and an illegitimate death-note. Exploring further through the skeleton's belongings I found the missing rounds, about five of them still left in a singed box, a mobile phone, no battery, and a small pocket knife. Well, that and a bunch of clothes but looking good really wasn't on my list of priorities anymore.

I looked at myself in the shards of broken mirror strewn across the floor, at the gaping hole that now centered the grotesque portrait of my face, the milky white tint my eyes had now taken on. I couldn't risk another incident like what happened back there with the wandering desperadoes. I would simply have to keep things "under wraps" so to speak. I bound by face with the bandages I still had for my arms but that of course left my arms exposed. I left them bare anyway and resolved to find some more bandages later on.

I figured I might as well hang on to the pistol and set about loading the 5 small shells into the pistol's chambers. The thing was remarkably clean and I wondered if it had ever actually been fired before. I also hung onto the safety knife and the Geiger counter, both going firmly into my pockets.

However it occurred to me that now I really had nowhere else to go. Finding accommodation had never really been at the forefront of my mind when I had been trapped in the basement but now that I was free I realised that I honestly had nowhere to go. My apartment was probably toast and the odds of any of my relatives having survived were next to none. Those vault programs were ridiculously anal about their selection processes. I was alone in a bizarre new world and simply had nowhere and no one to turn to. Everybody I had even thought to share a cup of coffee with was ash. Even if I did manage to track down a friendly face, they wouldn't have taken me in like this. Not this monster. At that stage, I am ashamed to admit, the pistol was looking remarkably friendly. Cold steel with the capability to end the loneliness. Painless right? My religious parent's would never approve of the "easy way out". Feeling my stomach sink to a blacker pit than before I recalled that that wasn't really an issue anymore. They'd understand surely?

So I went for it. Put the barrel right up to my slimy lobes. _Do a little cleaning. Right between the ears maybe. _I pulled the hammer back, the soft click sounding like a tolling bell in my grizzled state. I recall saying "sorry" as I pulled the trigger. Pretty lame last words really. Well, word.

Or it would have been. All my trigger pull got me was another click. This one almost imperceptible compared to the death toll previously. _What?_ It dawned on me then. Five shells, _Six _shot revolver. I sighed with relief. And that synched it. It was relief. Not anger or sadness that I couldn't even kill myself properly but honest to god relief. And if my subconscious didn't want to die then I damn well didn't either. I put the pistol down, _threw_ is probably more accurate, and pulled myself together. I'd made it this far and not even radiation or wandering psychopaths had put me down yet. The only thing keeping me alive at this stage was me. I wasn't about to let me fall apart. In the end I resolved to simply make myself a bed in the corner of the bathroom and laid down there and simply let myself fall asleep for the night. I could deal with problems in the morning.

xXx

A piercing croaked scream filled the pitch darkness, waking me from a horrific dream involving being buried alive and having to claw my way out again. Symbolic I guess. The scream echoed through the cold tunnels and bounced of the plastic advertising boards, warping the sound into something beyond nightmarish proportions. I sat bolt upright, thinking for a moment that perhaps the three men from before had managed to find me out but then I heard the gunshots and the sound of running feet. They were getting closer. I took the pistol from the ground next to me and cautiously approached the door to the bathroom.

I peered out into the cold of the metro station. Newspapers and luggage littered the floors and platforms and many of the trains waiting there were smashed and beaten, none of the windows remained in their frames. It was not the trains or luggage that were screaming and shooting though. It was the same group from before. However they didn't look so good. Mick was running ahead of the group, occasionally turning to fire a stray round at god-knows-what but his companions were lagging behind. Welding mask guy was limping while Mohawk was clutching his wrist, jabbering profanities as he tried to catch up with Mick. I ducked behind a pillar and peered out cautiously from behind a smashed pay-phone.

"Keep going! One of them things bit me! The God damn thing tried to EAT ME!"

Then in a flash, Welding Mask, who had been nearly 20 metres behind tripped, his legs swept out from under him and was whisked back into the darkness of the train tunnel, a high pitched scream escaping from his struggling figure. It was cut abruptly short by whatever had taken him and I shuddered at the thought. Something was down here. It had been disturbed. And now it was angry.

Suddenly some sort of rabid animal dived onto Mohawk, tackling him to the ground and beating at his face, all claws and sinew. Mick tried to shoot the thing but his gun was knocked from his grip by another of the creatures. The thing stood to it's full height, exposed flesh and sinews gleaming from the moonlight that filtered down through the cracks in the ceiling and bellowed a rasped scream at the top of it's lungs.

I realised what they were then. They were people- or at least they had been until the radiation turned them into these rabid creatures. It took me a moment to make the connection but when it came I gasped and nearly alerted them to my presence. We were suffering from the same affliction. Admittedly, theirs was far more advanced but there was no denying the symptoms.

Mohawk's face was red squishy pudding before I could even blink and Mick wasn't bothering to hang around long enough to lend a hand. He tried to bolt from the zombie-like stalkers and sprinted for the gate I had come through the previous day. I saw at least five of the half naked ghouls sprint after him clawing and reaching for his coat tails, occasionally tripping over themselves and getting right back up again immediately afterwards to continue the chase.

The exact moment when Mick found my padlock on the locked gate sounded loud and clear throughout the tunnels and I had to hold down the bile rising in my throat as he made his last dying screams which came to a gurgling end. Mick the raider was no more. I found I had been leaning against the pillar and, righting myself, turned to make a quick escape from the feral creatures. A slimy face, all muscle and dry tissue met mine and a warm rancid breath passed over my own scarred face.

xXx

I let out an almost silent yelp and the creature twitched. It's lid-less, milky white eyes darted over my features like a bizarre kind of lizard and it's lip-less jaws opened and closed, chewing some imaginary food, what I imagined might soon be my flesh. It stared at me. I stared back, too afraid to move. It continued to stare for what felt like an age, a vacant expression with a feint hint of sadness flitting across it's rotted features. And then it left. It simply wandered away, over towards where mohawk lay, nibbling at it's dirt encrusted fingernails. I shuddered. '_I guess I'm part of the family now'_ I thought.

I pulled myself together and headed towards the padlocked gate. Towards... the body. I'm not proud of what I did next but I needed some kind of protection in this hell and I couldn't rely on my scyzophrenic buddies to help me out like that forever. The ghouls had grown bored by this stage and had wandered off into the other tunnels and alcoves in the station, leaving the entrance clear. I wandered towards the mess of gore, clothing and ever advancing pool of blood that was Mick and knelt to inspect the police riot armour he had been wearing.

The armour was in remarkably good condition considering it was now covered in two different people's blood. I had to gag though at the bits that weren't armour. Mick looked like red Jelly with a side helping of mince-meat. I shook my head clear again. _The suit, boy, pay attention._ Choking back my bile I set to work. It took me at least 20 awkward minutes to pull off the various plates and mechanisms from the mangled mess, but I eventually managed it, claiming my well-earned prize. I used some paper towel to scrape off both the fresh and dried blood. A large 17 was painted in faded yellow letters on the breastplate and several scratches just below the collar showed a tally of almost 13... kills? Neither Mercy nor remorse were Mick's strong points it seemed.  
Getting the thing back together, and onto me was especially difficult but I persevered. I managed to fit myself in, with all the crushed fingers and chaffing extremities to show for it. The thing baked me like an oven but the sense of strength it gave off was something altogether rewarding in itself. No wonder these things were brought in for riots. The Fed's must've felt invincible. I must admit I felt pretty close. Minus the cooking. The heat problem was definitely an issue. The smoke I could smell coming from my lower back gave away the cause. The air con was busted. _Guess that's what you get when you go second hand._ A macabre smile flashed over my face.


End file.
